Light in the Darkness Chapter Thirty-Five Deserved Punishment

"I've recently encountered something unclean. Please, Master, help me get rid of this haunting spirit."

"Money is no object—as long as you can resolve the issue."

Although Song Qianwen found the middle-aged, obese man before her exuding a lecherous air, she reminded herself not to judge by appearances and spoke of her troubles.

"Money? Heh… hehehe…" The greasy, middle-aged man narrowed his eyes to slits, making his already small eyes appear even more sordid. He ran his beady gaze up and down Song Qianwen's elegant figure, her fair skin and flowing hair, secretly marveling, "What a rare beauty."

"I don’t want money… all I want is for you, my lovely, to let me…" He leered, his eyes fixed hungrily upon her ample chest, a string of drool slipping from his lips and splattering to the floor.

Song Qianwen felt deeply uncomfortable under the priest’s lustful gaze. This man was no master—he was a lecherous wretch, a creature ruled by his basest urges.

"How can you not want money? Is it that you don’t care for money, or is it that you’re incapable of dealing with supernatural matters?"

Song Qianwen, conservative by nature and now carrying Tang Li’s child, would never betray him. She knew well what the man coveted, but she would never yield.

"Is there any supernatural event I can’t handle? Are you doubting my abilities?" The man’s face turned serious, but inwardly, he was unaffected by her words. In truth, she was right—he was incapable of dealing with spirits at all.

Ghosts, he’d heard, existed, and the rumors about them were countless. But that was all hearsay—no one had actually seen one. Or perhaps some had, but everyone who had ever laid eyes on a ghost was said to die without exception.

Some believed in spirits, some did not. Most of those who sought his help with the supernatural were wealthy, their belief in ghosts so strong that they made easy prey for his scams. Why had no one exposed him? Because no one had ever seen a ghost. After his elaborate show, people would reassure themselves, convincing themselves that the ghost was gone.

Under this self-comfort, they continued to believe in the existence of evil spirits, but now, knowing that such creatures could be exorcised by Daoist arts, they believed that with enough money, they could hire any expert.

As the saying goes, money makes the world go round, and while it may not literally move ghosts, it could certainly buy the services of many supposed masters.

The Daoist had two cups of coffee brought in—one for himself, one for Song Qianwen.

Under his expectant gaze, Song Qianwen, suspecting nothing, drank the cup laced with a potent sedative. No sooner had she finished than her world began to tremble violently, as if in an earthquake. Her vision spun; her eyelids grew impossibly heavy. Then everything went black, the last thing she saw was the bloated, piggish face looming ever closer, before she lost consciousness.

The Daoist rubbed his hands together with excitement, eager to have his way with the sleeping beauty before him.

He ordered Song Qianwen carried upstairs to his room. Pulling a bottle of aphrodisiacs from his drawer, he popped a pill, then, humming a cheerful tune, headed to the bathroom for a quick shower while he waited for it to take effect.

Song Qianwen’s outer garments had already been stripped and lay scattered on the floor; beneath her white camisole, her proud curves were barely concealed. She lay unconscious on the bed, while the sound of running water echoed from the bathroom.

Meanwhile, Tang Li returned home. Receiving no answer on Song Qianwen’s phone, he called her roommates.

"Hello? Is Qianwen at your dorm? She’s not answering her phone, and her office said she took today off."

There was a brief pause at the other end.

"No, ever since you two got together, she hardly comes back at all."

"Hmm… did you girls also come across a strange book? And have you experienced any unusual things?"

After a long silence, Tang Li asked a seemingly unrelated question.

"What? How did you… wait, don’t tell me you two—?"

"Yes. It started after our trip to the amusement park."

"I—"

Before she could finish, Tang Li’s gaze fell upon his computer screen, where the keywords "ghost-hunting expert" stood out. The name at the top of the search results was none other than the Daoist Song Qianwen had sought out.

The previous night, Song Qianwen had searched for the same thing on his computer, but after hearing a noise in the living room, she’d gone to investigate and forgotten about it, later searching again on her phone.

"I’ve got something to handle. I’ll find Qianwen, bring her to your dorm, and we’ll figure out what to do."

He finished speaking rapidly, grabbed his phone, and rushed downstairs.

"If Qianwen has also run into supernatural trouble, she must have been terrified last night," he thought.

He flagged down a cab, gave the driver the address, and was suddenly seized by a strange sense of foreboding. His sixth sense told him he must find Song Qianwen immediately, or something terrible would happen to her.

There was no logical reason for this feeling, just a conviction that if he was even a second too late, Song Qianwen would be in danger. Was this some sort of telepathy between lovers? He didn’t know, but he knew he had to hurry—her safety depended on it.

The uncertainty gnawed at him, and his anxiety grew stronger by the minute. He imagined hundreds of possible scenarios, each more terrible than the last. That’s how it is for men—unable to reach their beloved, their minds fill with the worst fears, terrified of harm befalling the one they love.

Women need a sense of security; men do too.

Tang Li recalled that no matter how busy Song Qianwen was, she always replied to his messages. Even if she couldn’t respond right away, she’d always explain what kept her. But today, there was no answer, no reply at all—this was the first time.

It was precisely her thoughtfulness that made Tang Li cherish her all the more.

"Driver, can you please go a bit faster?"

His anxiety mounted with every passing second; he couldn’t help but grow more agitated.

"I’m going as fast as I can, son. We’re in the city—there’s a speed limit. What’s the rush? Something happen?"

Tang Li steadied his nerves, checked the time, and replied, "It’s nothing, I just have this sudden, overwhelming sense of unease—like if I’m even a second too late, something bad will happen to my girlfriend. I can’t explain it; I just feel desperate to get there."

"That’s serious. Let me just say—usually only those deeply connected can sense when a loved one is in danger. Forgive my chatter, just take it as an old man’s rambling," the driver replied.

At that moment, Song Qianwen’s consciousness was utterly blurred, while the lecherous fat man finished his shower.

No one noticed the pair of red eyes watching them silently from the ceiling.

The Daoist first stripped Song Qianwen down to her underwear. Gazing upon her beauty as she slept, he could hardly wait another second to have his way with her. Yet, years of indulgence and advancing age had left him lacking in certain abilities. He could only wait for the drug to take full effect, all the while comparing his plump, shapeless wife to the young and ravishing Song Qianwen, his heart burning with desire.

Outside, the sky, once clear, suddenly changed. Black clouds rolled in, blotting out the sun.

Darkness swept through the room. Though it was noon, it was as dark as midnight.

"What the hell is this weather?" the man grumbled as he flicked on the lights, oblivious to the danger closing in.

The red eyes vanished as the darkness intensified.

Trembling with anticipation, the man extended a hand toward Song Qianwen’s chest, his body pressing closer to hers.

Drip. Drip.

Before he could touch her, something dripped onto his balding scalp. His hand, instead of reaching for her, went to his head. A sticky warmth coated his fingers—blood red and unmistakable. A chill crept up his spine as he looked up, but nothing was there.

He steadied himself. The drug’s effects had already taken hold; his desire was now overwhelming, drowning out all reason. He dismissed the strange occurrence, intent only on satisfying his lust.

Drip, drip, drip.

Now the blood was pouring from the ceiling, not in drops but in a torrential downpour that soaked the room in crimson.

The entire room became a sea of blood. The liquid pooled at his feet, gathering and rising in defiance of gravity, encircling him.

Finally, it engulfed him, his body shrinking, diminishing until he vanished completely. The blood, as if it had never existed, disappeared.

Everything returned to normal—except that the lustful Daoist, who had lived by his basest desires, was gone forever.